


Walk Before You Run

by FantasyFiend09



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 14:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasyFiend09/pseuds/FantasyFiend09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco's not sure what a "three-legged race" is, but he's damn sure he doesn't want to do it. Having Potter as his partner is not helping things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walk Before You Run

**Author's Note:**

> Author: fantasyfiend09  
> Prompter: evilgiraff  
> Prompt Number: 13  
> Title: Walk Before You Run  
> Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, Neville/Hannah  
> Summary: Draco's not sure what a "three-legged race" is, but he's damn sure he doesn't want to do it. Having Potter as his partner is not helping things.  
> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.  
> Warning(s): None.  
> Epilogue compliant? No. Harry and Ginny never got back together, and Draco's never been with a woman.  
> Word Count: 9,500  
> Author's Notes: My thanks to geneva2010 for the speedy Beta job and to the mods for running this fabulous fest!  
> Dear Prompter, I loved your fun and flexible prompt. I wrote several false starts that all had completely different time periods, settings and relationships, but this was the strongest of the plot bunnies. I hope it pleases you.

Draco arrived early to the Ministry Monday morning, as he did every workday and the occasional Saturday. He rode the lift down to the second level and walked the long empty corridor to the cluster of desks that was the Curse-Breaker division. Unlike the surrounding desks stacked high with overstuffed case files and the odd Cursed object, Draco's desk held only the two tidy files he'd set aside on Friday evening and a roll of bright yellow parchment he'd never seen before.  
  
  
He approached the parchment with the trepidation of a man who still received the occasional Howler or Cursed letter, and he cast a few spells before deeming it safe to pick up. He unrolled it carefully and realised it was his assignment for the Ministry's upcoming Muggle Appreciation Fair.  
  
  
He had signed up for the tedious event only because he couldn't afford  _not_  to and appear anti-Muggle; his reputation had improved slightly over the past few years, but he was still largely disliked and distrusted. So he had dutifully volunteered, imagining he'd be forced to man a table of whatever smelly and distasteful things Muggles eat when they have these  _gatherings_  the Ministry sought to emulate.  
  
  
Instead, he was expected to compete in something called a 'three-legged race' partnered with none other than Harry Potter.  
  
  
'Race' was the first word that caught his eye, and a shiver ran down his back. Draco had learned to fly before he could walk, and his body had never showed the same talent on the ground that it displayed in the air. He could run, physically, but it wasn't a particularly fast or graceful act. It was certainly nothing that he wanted to do competitively or with an audience.  
  
  
And what was with the 'three-legged' bit? Was the game usually played with a one-legged partner, or did Muggles barbarically maim themselves for the sake of the sport? Well, Potter could be the one to chop his leg off for his precious Muggles. Draco's legs were far too nice to be injured.  
  
  
"Ooh. You lucky dog." Romilda Vane's shrill voice was too close to his ear as she pressed up against him to read the parchment over his shoulder. Nosey bint. Aurors usually didn't come to the Curse-Breaker division, but Vane was always there pestering Draco and sniffing for gossip. "You can tie me to Harry Potter any time," she cooed. She dropped her head onto Draco's shoulder—curly black hair tickling his face—and sighed dramatically.  
  
  
He shrugged her off. "What are you talking about?"  
  
  
She pointed to his parchment with one of her bright red nails. "Three-legged race with Harry. You have to tie your legs together."  
  
  
Draco frowned. "How can we race if our legs are tied. Do we hop?" Embarrassing images filled his mind of falling flat on his face in front of a jeering crowd. He somehow knew he would find the one patch of mud in the whole field, even if there were no rain for the next three weeks.  
  
  
Vane laughed in his face. "You are so adorably clueless, aren't you?" She pinched his cheek before he could flinch away. "You tie  _one_  of your legs to one of his." She pressed her left leg to his right to demonstrate. "Thus creating three legs. You can run just fine so long as your strides are in sync. It takes lots of practice."  
  
  
"Practice?" he spat. "Do you honestly believe I plan to spend the next few weeks tying my leg to Potter's and trying to run?"  
  
  
Vane sighed dramatically, again; it seemed to be her favourite means of breathing. "Sounds like heaven to me. The being tied to Harry part. I don't think I'd care about running once we were that close." Her eyes glazed over and Draco didn't want to consider what she was imagining.  
  
  
"You're disgusting." He tossed the parchment on his desk and unfastened his travelling cloak.  
  
  
"And you're in denial," she shot back. "What is it about Harry that turns you off? The jewel-like eyes? The toned body? Maybe it's that brilliant smile." She arched a brow in challenge. "And don't even  _try_  to claim he's not your type, because I've  _seen_  your type: dark hair, bright eyes, and slender." She dumped a messy file on Draco's desk and gave him a contemptuous look. "You were just assigned a wet dream, but you're going to waste your chance by being a total berk."  
  
  
"I am not!" His instinct was to be contrary, but her predatory smile made him doubt his choice of reply.  
  
  
"So you  _won't_  waste your chance?" Her voice was sickeningly sweet. "I'm so glad." She leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "I want all the details." With a flick of her wild hair, she was gone.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Draco has just settled into reviewing—and  _organising_ —Vane's file when he felt Potter's presence behind him. Draco could smell that hint of grass and warm dirt, and he could almost taste Potter's restless magic.  
  
  
"Malfoy?" Potter's voice was cautious.  
  
  
Draco sighed loudly enough for Potter to hear but did not look up from the poorly written description of a Cursed statue. "What do you want, Potter?"  
  
  
"Well, since we're assigned to the three-legged race together, I figured we should practice. Not sure if you know much about the event, but—"  
  
  
"Yes, Potter. I know what a three-legged race is." Draco was reluctantly grateful to Vane that he wouldn't have to admit ignorance in front of Potter.  
  
  
"Right. Great! Then you understand that practice is our only chance of winning the race. I recall from school that you never took well to losing."  
  
  
Draco finally turned so Potter could see his glare. "What  _I_  remember from school is that you couldn't make it through a year without ending up in the hospital wing. Do try not to get us killed during a simple Muggle game."  
  
  
Potter strode forward with fierce eyes and squared shoulders. "Maybe I would have been hurt less if your  _father_ —" Potter shut his mouth and scowled. Draco continued to glare back until Potter's body sagged. "Let's not—Let's just focus on the race, okay? This whole event is about moving on from the past and embracing differences."  
  
  
Potter sounded like Minister Shacklebolt when he'd announced the ridiculous thing. Not a surprise, really, given how close the Minister and Boy Wonder were. The whole thing was probably Granger's idea that Potter had fed to Shacklebolt. That little know-it-all had far too much influence these days.  
  
  
"So what d'ya say, Malfoy? Can we get along long enough not to embarrass ourselves in front of the entire Ministry?"  
  
  
Draco stiffened as Potter verbalised his fear. An image filled his mind of falling into mud as Granger called, "Who's the Mudblood, now?"  
  
  
"C'mon, Malfoy. You only have to pretend you don't hate me for three weeks." Potter looked a little sad as he said it, and Draco had the oddest impulse to admit he didn't hate him. He didn't  _like_  the pompous git, but it was hard to hate someone who'd saved his life and ensured his family's freedom.  
  
  
But let Potter  _think_  Draco still hated him; it was good for that enormous ego to have one detractor.  
  
  
"Fine. We can practice," Draco said, returning to the case file. "I am free tomorrow immediately after work, and there is ample space around the Manor." He was free that night as well, but he wouldn't admit to Potter how sparse his social life had become.  
  
  
He saw Potter nod from the corner of his eye. "I'll meet you here after work, but I don't want to go to Malfoy Manor," Potter said. Draco was about to argue, but Potter didn't give him a chance. "In fairness, I assume you don't want to go to the Burrow."  
  
  
Draco let his lip curl up in disgust. He worked with Bill Weasley, who was surprisingly charming and even easy on the eyes—for a ginger—but Draco was a long way from wanting to make nice with the Weasel and Weaslette.  
  
  
Potter nodded as if Draco had spoken. "Then let's find somewhere neutral."  
  
  
Draco had to admit there was some sense in that suggestion, much as he hated to admit Potter was capable of being logical. He wanted a private location where he wouldn't been seen were he to stumble, but they didn't have a single mutual friends or . . . Well, actually, there was  _one_  person Potter considered a friend who did not treat Draco like an enemy or victim.  
  
  
She was completely mental, of course, but Draco suspected she suffered from a naive acceptance of her father's tales. It was a failing he could admit, if only to himself, he shared.  
  
  
"I wouldn't object to the Lovegood grounds, if you arrange permission."  
  
  
"Luna?" Potter was staring at him with wide eyes. Draco glared back daring him to comment on the war. "Right. Sorry. I'll send her an owl, but I'm sure she won't mind. I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
  


  
* * *

  
  
  
The next evening, they stood looking over a grassy field on the edge of the Lovegood estate. The grass was untended and had grown long with clusters of wild flowers in bright yellows, pinks, and purples. The field was bordered by a bramble hedge on one side and a small valley on the other. It was unkempt, wild, and free, and Draco had to admit that it suited Luna perfectly.  
  
  
He had originally made contact with Luna and her father as a political move to improve his reputation, but Luna had decided they were to be friends. Surprised to be offered an invitation by someone who wasn't Goyle or Pansy, Draco had actually found himself accepting offers of meals and walks in the countryside. His head often hurt after talking with her for too long, but he had the feeling it was somehow good for him.  
  
  
Potter fidgeted beside him, digging into the pockets of his robes. He pulled out a length of red and white rope and held it for Draco to see. "Shall we get started?" His tone was carefully neutral, and Draco found it tedious. Even by attempting to be civil, Potter managed to annoy him.  
  
  
It was best to get the whole thing over with, so Draco walked over to stand at Potter's right side and extended his left leg in offering. Potter pressed his own leg against Draco's and began winding the rope around them.  
  
  
Potter's leg was surprisingly strong and sturdy, reminding Draco that Potter hadn't been a weedy pre-pubescent boy in many years. Potter's hands were definitely not a boy's hands: broad, with long, muscular fingers. Draco wished he'd worn thicker trousers as he felt the heat of Potter's leg against his own.  
  
  
When Potter had finished binding their legs from ankle to knee, he stood up. They were so close that there wasn't room for their arms between them.  
  
  
"It's easier if we um . . ." Potter slid his arm awkwardly around Draco's waist, as much hovering as holding him. Draco arched his arm up and over Potter's head to settle it across his shoulders. They probably looked like two lovers out for a stroll, and the realisation made Draco's face heat. He was grateful there had been no sign of either Lovegood when they'd arrived.  
  
  
"Right. Let's start with our inside legs," Potter said, and Draco could feel the warmth of breath on his neck. He nodded, but kept his eyes on their legs. They lifted their bound legs and placed it a step in front of them. "Now the outside." Draco lifted his back foot and set it beside the bound one. With Potter calling out each step, they slowly made their way across the field.  
  
  
When their rhythm settled, Potter stopped speaking and they continued in awkward silence. Draco ignored the hot, firm press of Potter's body against his and the earthy smell that had little to do with the field around them. He didn't notice the way Potter's muscular thighs pulled on the fabric of his trousers as he—  
  
  
"Look up."  
  
  
Draco's eyes shot up from Potter's leg to his eyes. Their faces were nearly touching, and Draco wondered if they'd ever been so close even during their confrontations at Hogwarts. It would explain why Draco had never before noticed just how green Potter's eyes were behind those ridiculous glasses he wore.  
  
  
Potter parted his lips as if to speak, and the movement drew Draco's eye.  
  
  
The next moment, Draco was falling forward, and Potter was shouting as he struggled to keep his feet. Draco's knee—the one not bound to Potter—hit the ground painfully and he imagined the grass stains that would be evidence of his clumsiness. He braced himself for Potter's inevitable mocking.  He wasn't disappointed.  
  
  
"No need to kneel at my feet, Malfoy. A simple bow when I arrive would suffice."  
  
  
Humiliation burned up Draco's spine until his face was hot. He couldn't raise his head and risk Potter seeing him so affected.  He couldn't even bear to stay there.  
  
  
With a flick of his wand, he severed the rope and Disapparated away.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Draco had briefly considered skipping work, but it would not do to admit shame or defeat. He would face the abuse about his fall just as he had faced it for being on the losing side of the war: with his head held high.  
  
  
Nine o'clock found him already settled at his desk writing a report for Vane on the Curse he'd removed the day before.  
  
  
"Malfoy?"  
  
  
Draco stiffened at the sound of Potter's voice.  _Here it comes. Potter's going to mock me in front of the whole division._  He glanced around the cluster of Curse-Breaker desks and saw that the two Curse-Breakers present hadn't looked up from their texts. He felt a sudden fondness for his colleagues who were professional enough to mind their own business. If  _someone_  had to be present for Potter's mocking, it could be much worse.  
  
  
"Look, I'm sorry."  
  
  
Draco set down his quill at the unexpected comment. He looked up and saw Potter hovering by the door to the division as if unsure of his welcome. When Draco met his eyes, Potter strode forward and lowered his voice as if worried about privacy.  
  
  
"I shouldn't have teased you about your—" Apparently Potter had learned to censure himself. "We need to work together, right? Kingsley wants the fair to bring people together and show we can cooperate. It'd look good if you and I could do that."  
  
  
Draco felt a rush of annoyance that Potter was using him as a pawn for more Ministry propaganda. "So this is just part of Shacklebolt's re-election campaign?"  
  
  
Potter chuckled and shook his head. "No. I don't think Kingsley gives a shit about being re-elected. He'd much rather be an Auror and let someone else run the country, but he'll do his best by us so long as he's in office." Potter looked oddly earnest. "He really believes that we can move on from all this, and . . . so do I." He stuck out his hand. "Truce?"  
  
  
Draco scowled at the hand in his face for only a moment before he gave in to his instinct for self-preservation. "Truce." He wrapped his hand around Potter's and was surprised how warm it was.  
  
  
Potter smiled. "Can we try again tonight? We didn't actually get much practice in last night, even though we made a good start."  
  
  
Draco forgot to pretend to be busy.  
  
  


  
* * *

  
  
  
The next practice was awkwardly quiet and polite, so Draco was surprised to see Potter arrive at their third practice with a cheeky grin on his face.  
  
  
"Something amusing?" Draco forced himself not to assume Potter was laughing at him.  
  
  
"Yeah. One of our trainees asked me out—not Romilda for once—but I said I was off to practice bondage with you."  
  
  
Draco felt all the blood leave his face as his mind filled with possible  _Daily Prophet_  headlines. Rita Skeeter would have an early Christmas describing his sexual perversions and speculating about what  _really_  had happened when the Dark Lord lived at the Manor.  
  
  
"Do you have  _any_  idea how hard I am working to redeem my name?" he spat. "And you just throw it away on a lark. Not that you could even  _begin_  to understand when everyone fucking worships the—"  
  
  
"Hey, hey." Potter stepped forward with his hands up in a placating gesture. "I didn't say you. I mean, I didn't use your name."  
  
  
Draco faltered at the remorse in Potter's eyes. "What?"  
  
  
Potter's cheeks were pink. "I said I was going off to practice bondage with a fit blond, but I didn't say who you were."  
  
  
"Oh. Right then."  
  
  
Potter's voice echoed  _fit blond_  in his head. "And for what it's worth, I think you're doing a great job redeeming your name. Bill says you're a really good Curse-Breaker, you know. And I know you're the only reason Vane is doing so well with her case load. She joined us because she loves Aurors, not Auror work, and yet she hands in the most thorough Curse reports of any trainee. We all know it's because she always consults with you."  
  
  
Potter shrugged as if unsure his words held any weight, and Draco looked away so Potter wouldn't see that they did.  
  
  
"Shall we practice?" Potter's voice was friendly, a tone Draco had heard often when Potter spoke to others. Draco nodded and stayed very still as Potter bound their legs.  
  
  
As before, Potter held Draco around the waist and Draco rested his arm across Potter's shoulders. "Go." They started with their bound legs, as they'd agreed worked best, and began walking at a casual pace. Their plan was to master walking before trying to run together.  
  
  
They walked until the air grew colder, and neither of them so much as stumbled.  
  
  
"I think we've got walking down," Potter said. "Next time we can try increasing our speed." He pulled his arm away and Draco's back felt suddenly cold in the evening air. His leg felt almost naked as Potter undid the rope.  
  
  
"Cold," Draco murmured. He hadn't realised Potter would hear, but bright eyes locked on his.  
  
  
"It is. And I'm hungry. Shall we get something warm to eat?"  
  
  
Draco forced his jaw not to drop open. Potter was just being civil until the fair as they'd agreed. It didn't mean anything. Although hot food did sound quite good at that moment, and it wouldn't hurt Draco's reputation to be seen socialising with Harry Potter.  
  
  
"The Witch's Brew does a decent meal," Draco said casually, just in case he'd imagined Potter's invitation. The poky little pub was on the outskirts of London and far from the crowds of Diagon Alley.  It was a favourite of those witches and wizards who valued privacy over proper lighting.  
  
  
Potter grinned at him as he pocketed the rope. "Brilliant. Meet you there." With a crack, Potter was gone and Draco was left staring at the dark hills against the deep blue sky.  
  
  
"I'm having dinner with Potter," he said to himself. The words didn't make it any more believable and the wind was picking up, so he turned heel and Apparated to The Witch's Brew.  
  
  


  
* * *

  
  
  
Dinner with Potter had been astonishingly easy. They'd discussed Ministry politics and Quidditch over dinner and then drinks, and Draco had been surprised to realise the pub was near closing as they'd gathered their cloaks to leave.  
  
  
Stranger still was that Potter dropped by Draco's desk the next day to ask about a case when he could have simply sent a memo or even chosen a different Curse-Breaker—one with far less personal history.  
  
  
Draco had refused to practice over the weekend, claiming he was far too busy. It wouldn't do for Potter to think Draco had nothing better to do, and he  _did_  have plans to spend Saturday night with Blaise and Pansy at Diagon Alley's first and only nightclub. Yes, it was rather Muggle, but even a pure-blood could appreciate good drinks and buttery leather booths.  
  
  
However, as he sat on that supple leather and nursed a perfectly made mojito, his mind kept returning to the Lovegood field and the evening at The Witch's Brew. Clearly he needed more exciting friends if they couldn't hold his attention against someone as uninteresting as Potter.  
  
  
It didn't help that Pansy and Blaise had finally stopped dancing around each other and were now trying to make up for lost time.  He glared to his side where Pansy was now straddling Blaise in her attempts to suck his soul out through his mouth.  
  
  
Disgusted, Draco threw back the rest of his mojito and got up.  They didn't even notice.  With a huff, Draco headed to the bar for another drink.   
  
  
"Two weeks left," Potter said in his ear. When Draco twisted around, Potter was smiling at him. "Buy you a drink?"  
  
  
Draco agreed and Potter ordered two mojitos.  
  
  
"So I thought we could keep up the practising and increase our speed," Potter said as they waited.  
  
  
Right. The race.  
  
  
Draco reminded himself that Potter was not his friend; this was just a cease-Curse until the fair was over. For some reason that realisation irritated him.  
  
  
"That's fine, Potter. Apparently the Ministry thinks nothing of ruining my social calendar for three weeks for the sake of their propaganda."  
  
  
Harry laughed, a rich hearty sound that made Draco's stomach squirm. "What? You that upset you'll miss watching Zabini and Parkinson snog?" He gestured with his head back to Draco's table and his groping friends.  
  
  
Draco narrowed his eyes at the insult. He had other social commitments! He attended his mother's teas and occasionally he visited Goyle. Sure it had been a while since his last date, or even pull, but he was in no way pleased to have to spend so many nights with Harry bloody Potter.  
  
  
"And what about you, Potter? Don't you have signings to attend and babies to kiss? Can the wizarding world spare their precious  _Saviour_  for so many nights?"  
  
  
Potter's eyes flashed and his jaw set. "I'm  _being_  their precious Saviour, aren't I?  I'm keeping  _you_  away from polite society."  
  
  
Draco felt as if he'd been slapped.  Apparently Potter thought no better of him now than he had in sixth-year.  So much for all that bullshit about doing a great job redeeming his name.  "Detaining the Death Eater so he can't go torture Muggles?" he spat. "Is that what you think?"  
  
  
"What? No!" Potter looked genuinely shocked. "I didn't say that! I don't think that at all."  The sneer was gone and Potter looked earnest once more.  "I just meant that you can be so bloody  _rude_  sometimes. "  
  
  
Earnest or not, Draco wasn't appeased. "Awww. Poor wittle Potter's feelings hurt? Fine. I won't talk to you. I'll hardly miss the stimulating conversation." He picked up his drink and walked back to his  _real_  friends. He'd force them apart—with a Severing Charm, if necessary—and  _make_ them distract him from bloody annoying gits who only pretend to believe in forgiveness.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Draco didn't say a word to Potter at the Ministry or their next two practices.  
  
  
Draco was cooperative during practice—he still had nightmares of falling on muddy fields in front of a crowd—but he acknowledged Potter only enough to bind their legs and trot awkwardly together. It was difficult to ignore Potter as they wrapped their arms around each other, but Draco spoke not a word and never met Potter's eyes.  
  
  
Potter tried apologising on Monday, but then gave up and simply sulked.  Glum Potter was rather annoying, but that wasn't Draco's problem.  They weren't friends.  
  
  
On Wednesday, Potter showed up all but shaking with anger, and Draco's curiosity overcame his stubbornness. "Break your favourite quill?" he drawled with feigned indifference.  
  
  
Potter turned fiery eyes on him, and Draco fell silent. "Oh, so  _now_  you're talking to me? What, do you and Ron take turns?"  
  
  
Draco bristled at being grouped with Weasley, but his curiosity spurred him on. "What are you—"  
  
  
"Ron isn't talking to me because he heard Robards is planning to train me as his successor." Potter was pacing in the grass and tugging his hair as the words poured out of him. "It's like fourth-year all over again. I didn't  _ask_  to be a champion and I didn't ask to be Head Auror!" He kicked a tuft of grass and sending dry dirt flying. As usual, he was painting himself the victim as if he had no say in his own life.  
  
  
Draco would have to introduce him to sense. "Do you  _want_  to be Head Auror?"  
  
  
"What?" Potter stopped moving and looked at him with a furrowed brow. He had clearly never asked himself the basic and obvious question.  
  
  
"Well, I imagine you enjoy the fieldwork aspect of being an Auror—restless as you are—whilst being Head Auror is mainly paperwork, managing subordinates, and attending meetings. I would think you'd find it rather dull and tedious."  
  
  
Potter's eyes widened briefly before he frowned. Draco wondered if that was Potter's thinking face.  
  
  
"You've never considered this, have you?" Potter had the decency to look sheepish. "This isn't fourth-year, Potter, and Robards is not the Goblet of Fire. You can simply say that you are flattered but respectfully decline. Or if you really want to be clever about it, you'd put someone else in his mind before he even asks you."  
  
  
Potter's eyes sharpened at that. Perhaps there was hope for him after all.  
  
  
Draco squirmed under the intense look but kept his voice even. "Who do  _you_  think should be Head Auror? Who  _should_  Robards ask?"  
  
  
Potter bit his lower lip, making Draco uncomfortably aware of how soft and red it looked. "That's a good question. I know he wants someone young, especially as he wants a couple more years to train them before he steps down. He likes me because I lived through the war first hand, and some of the younger or foreign Aurors didn't really get that close. But Ron is a lot better at the networking and policy crap than I am. Plus, he knows the wizarding world in a way I still don't."  
  
  
Draco nodded at that. For all that Arthur Weasley was obsessed with Muggles, his children were wizards through and through. Over the past year, Draco had decided that the Weasley feud his father had started was not an advantageous one. While he still had too much pride to even speak to the youngest two, he'd forced himself to be civil to the others he saw around the Ministry.  
  
  
"If Weasley would be a good choice, why not put that idea in Robards' head. Even if he disagrees with your candidate, he will likely get the hint that you don't want the position for yourself."  
  
  
Potter was quiet for the rest of the practice as his small mind tried to formulate a cunning plan. Draco hoped he didn't hurt himself.  
  
  


  
* * *

  
  
"You did it!"  
  
  
Potter's outcry caused Draco to drop his quill. It was Friday evening and he was trying to finish a report before the end of the day. He didn't have plans for the evening, but he wanted to leave before everyone else began to boast about their own busy nights. He turned toward Potter and saw him beaming like a maniac.  
  
  
"You did it. I had a chat with Robards yesterday about how Ron was so great with tactics and people, and today, Robards named Ron his Deputy Head and successor!"  
  
  
Potter was bouncing on the balls of his feet like a four-year-old at the door to Honeydukes. "Robards is happy. Ron's fucking thrilled! And I don't have to give up fieldwork for paperwork." He walked up to Draco all but shaking with excitement. "And it's all your doing!" He pulled Draco to his feet and  _hugged_  him.  
  
  
Draco hadn't been hugged by many people in his life. His mother had hugged him, although more when he was a child, and Pansy had found any way to touch him before accepting he was gay, but there were very few others. Actually, maybe  _no_  others. Slytherin hadn't been a big place for hugging—Pansy excluded—and Draco's occasional pulls had always skipped those more romantic gestures.  
  
  
So it was more than a little odd to be enveloped in the broad chest and warm arms of Harry Potter. Draco was very slightly taller, and Potter's head seemed to rest easily on his shoulder. Potter's hands, as energetic as the rest of him, moved up and down his back in comforting loops of warm pressure. It all felt rather . . . nice.  
  
  
Draco was almost disappointed when Potter pulled away, but he was quickly distracted by Potter's radiant smile. "Come out with us." Draco frowned in confusion. "Ron, Neville, and I are going to the Leaky to celebrate. You should join us."  
  
  
Draco felt a coldness that was unrelated to Potter taking all his cosy heat away. "Weasley and Longbottom? No, I don't think they would want—that's probably not a good idea."  
  
  
Potter placed a hand on his shoulder. "But this is all your doing.  And Ron knows that! It's probably the only day in his life he'll be happy to see you. Please?"  
  
  
Draco's mind was yelling,  _No!_ , but he was distracted by the pleading green eyes that were insisting he agree. "Just one drink."  
  
  
Potter beamed at him. "Great! Thank you! Let me grab my cloak." He ran to the door before halting and turning around. "Don't go anywhere!" He pinned Draco with his eyes until Draco nodded, and then he turned and sprinted back to the Auror division.  
  
  
Draco dropped to his seat and forced himself to finish his report; it would make things easier for his replacement after Weasley Hexed him into the next millennium. Draco hoped they didn't have three-legged races in the future.  
  
  


  
* * *

  
  
  
Opening the door to the Leaky Cauldron, Draco froze. The place was as dark and dirty as ever, but the Friday evening crowd had filled every table. It was astonishing that magical people endured such shabby conditions on a regular basis.  
  
  
Draco remembered his father's words from many years before.  
  
  
 _I don't go to there to drink, Draco. Tom's finest wine couldn't rival the cheapest bottle in our cellar. No, one goes to the Leaky to negotiate with weakened minds. Many an advantageous deal and alliance has been made in that dive._  
  
  
A quick glance around showed Ministry officials and members of the Wizengamot drinking ale and chatting with an ease rarely seen inside the Ministry. Perhaps it was time for Draco to form some new alliances.  
  
  
Potter placed a firm hand on the small of his back and urged him forward. He had warned Draco that the Weasel and Longbottom had gone ahead and Weasley was likely to have started drinking. That didn't prepare him for Weasley's grin and wave from a stool at the bar.  
  
  
"Harry! Malfoy! Over here." Draco approached cautiously. "Malfoy, come sit here."  
  
  
Weasley patted the empty stool on his left and Draco turned a panicked look to Potter. Potter just shrugged and took the seat two down from Weasley. Draco stared at the empty seat between the two wizards he had once considered enemies and very nearly bolted.  
  
  
"C'mon, Malfoy. I won' bite," Weasley slurred. Draco slowly lowered himself onto the stool. "There's a good git," Weasley said, and he sent a Stinging Hex at Draco's thigh.  
  
  
Draco bit his lip to stop himself from making more than a hiss and blinked past the wetness that gathered in his eyes. It was a far cry from the Cruciatus Curse, but the Hex still  _burned_!  
  
  
"What the fuck, Ron?" he heard Potter snap from beside him. "What was that for?"  
  
  
Weasley's arm brushed Draco's as he shrugged. "School," he said casually. "Buy you a drink, Malfoy?"  
  
  
"What? Plan to poison him, too?" Potter was using his Defender of Justice voice.  
  
  
"Nah. The Hex was enough for me. The drink is for helping with my promotion."  He raised his hand and gestured to the Abbott witch who kept bar with Tom  
  
  
Part of Draco wanted to Hex Weasley back—a rather large part—but he reminded himself that he was there to build alliances. He was with three of Britain's most influential wizards and being offered a drink. Perhaps more valuable, it seemed he was being offered a clean slate. A little voice in his head suggested he was getting off lightly with only a Stinging Hex for years of bullying.  
  
  
"Ripweed Burgundy," he managed between gritted teeth. The pain was easing, but his anger hadn't.  He wouldn't draw his wand on Weasley, but he couldn't resist ordering the most expensive wine the Leaky carried, one he knew came only by the bottle. He didn't think Weasley would recognise the prestigious label, but the little flinch from his right assured him Weasley at least suspected the cost.  
  
  
"Touche," Weasley muttered. "Good thing the promotion comes with a raise."  
  
  
Draco was surprised into a laugh.  
  
  
"Are you two done beating your chests?" Potter asked when Abbott left. "Or do you need to compare cock size as well?"  
  
  
A choking sound on Weasley's other side reminded Draco of the fourth member of their party. "Take  _that_  competition to the loo," Longbottom said.  
  
  
Draco leaned around Weasley to smile lecherously at him. "Don't you want to see it, Longbottom?"  
  
  
"Back off, Malfoy," came a woman's voice. Abbott was back and, despite her words, she was smiling. "He's quite satisfied without your cock, thank you."  
  
  
Longbottom flushed at her words and smiled into his pint.  
  
  
Draco smirked at him. "Girlfriend?"  
  
  
Longbottom didn't tell him to fuck off, and he didn't draw his wand. Instead he smiled rather smugly. "Jealous?"  
  
  
Draco's mind filled with thoughts about the Abbott family's mediocre standing and wealth or how the particular witch was as plain as she was pretty, but he knew those things meant nothing to Longbottom. From the look on Longbottom's face, it was clear that he was happy in a way that Draco  _did_  envy. Not that he'd ever admit it out loud.  
  
  
"You wish."  
  
  
From there the night settled into banter and conversation. There was plenty of ribbing and insults, but each was soothed with further drink and smug smiles. By the time Tom called last orders, Draco could admit that he was enjoying himself. His former enemies were surprisingly good company.  
  
  
Weasley was the first to leave—explaining that Granger was due back from a business trip that night—and Draco managed to bite back any comment about who was the dominant in that relationship. Neville started collecting glasses and helping his girlfriend clean up, so Potter and Draco took the cue to leave.  
  
  
Potter stood up and immediately fell back onto his stool.  
  
  
"One too many?" Draco teased.  
  
  
"Fuck you." Potter was smiling, and it almost sounded like an offer.  
  
  
Draco turned away from those shining green eyes before he could embarrass himself. "I think you're too pissed to Apparate."  
  
  
Potter snorted. "Pot, kettle, black."  
  
  
Draco rolled his eyes, but knew he wouldn't make it back to Wiltshire that night. Best to just take a room at the Leaky and Apparate in the morning.  
  
  
A key dangled in his face, and he saw Abbott smiling at him. "I'm psychic," she teased as he took the key. "Goes with the job."  
  
  
She explained that it was a room for two and walked Potter and him over to the stairs. As they headed to the room, Draco briefly wondered if that meant two beds or just a large one. He was  _not_  disappointed to see the single beds on opposite sides of the room.  
  
  
Potter began stripping before the door was fully closed behind them: he took off his robe first, then his shoes and socks. Next he undid his fly and pulled down his jeans. Draco couldn't help but notice the strong legs that led up to a pair of simple black cotton boxers that were largely hidden by a long ratty t-shirt.  
  
  
Hadn't someone taught the man how to buy clothing by now? Draco had learned a fair amount about Muggle clothing in the last couple of years—flipping through a Muggle magazine at work was a surprisingly pleasant way to appear pro-Muggle—and he knew that t-shirts could look much better than Potter's. His looked like it had been bought for a fat man ten years ago, and it completely hid the form of his upper body.  
  
  
Potter stopped moving and looked at him. "You, um, sleeping in that?"  
  
  
Draco looked down and realised he was still fully dressed. He flushed at being caught staring as Potter undressed and quickly stripped down to his own boxers. Once Draco removed his shirt, Potter removed his own to show that he was surprisingly toned for his someone so slender. He wasn't bulky, but there was a strength to his torso and arms that matched his natural intensity.  
  
  
For one long moment they were both standing in nothing but their pants, and Draco's mind filled with a hundred exciting possibilities. Before his inebriation could convince him to try one, he threw himself into the nearest bed.  
  
  
"Night, Potter." He flicked his wand at the nearest lamp and it went out. There was a shuffle and a mutter, and then the other lamp went out. Draco laid in the darkness listening to the slight rustles from the other bed. He hoped sleep would come quickly and save him from the awkwardness.  
  
  
"Malfoy?"  
  
  
"Mmm." Draco tried to sound sleepy.  
  
  
"Thanks for coming tonight. I had fun."  
  
  
Draco pretended to be asleep, but allowed himself to admit silently that he had, too.  
  
  


  
* * *

  
  
Draco had left the Leaky Saturday morning before Potter even stirred. It was because he had plans for the day and had nothing to do with hiding his ridiculous bed hair and puffy eyes from Potter. And if Draco spent a few extra minutes on his hair Monday morning, it was only because appearances matter.  
  
  
Potter appeared at nine with tea for two—in crisp white cups that spoke of a proper tea shop and not the Ministry cafeteria—and a shy smile. They talked about the weather and Quidditch, but Draco found himself smiling by the time Potter left him to his work. He stared at his desk for a long moment before opening a file and pulling out a report on Cursed quills.  
  
  
"Well, well. This pretty bird has changed his tune." Vane slipped into the empty chair at the desk next to his. Draco was very glad that none of his colleagues were present. He tried ignoring her, but she put her feet up and waited him out.  
  
  
"Fine, Vane. What do you want?"  
  
  
"I heard you spent the night with Potter."  
  
  
Draco resisted hitting his head against his desk. "We shared a room, not a bed. Nothing happened."  
  
  
Vane dropped her feet and leaned towards him. "But you  _did_  go out for drinks. What happened to hating him?" she mocked.  It was a good question. Hadn't he disliked Potter only weeks ago? And yet now he found himself enjoying the man's company.  
  
  
Draco picked up the Curse quill report and pretended to read. "Goodbye, Vane. Some of us have work to do." Now wasn't the time to reflect on whether he and Potter were actually friends, and he certainly wasn't doing it with Vane around.  
  
  
She huffed, but thankfully left.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Practices were almost pleasant as they moved more quickly together, arms wrapped tightly around each other and legs moving as one. They ended each evening at the Leaky and usually stayed until last orders. When Friday arrived, Draco felt the weight of knowing it was their last such night; the fair was on Saturday, and then Potter would no longer need him.  
  
  
It was a mild evening and the low sun illuminated the yellow and pink flowers scattered through the grass. A light wind rustled the brambles, making the still-green fruit dance among the leaves. A few white clouds sat along the horizon where the blue sky was beginning to turn pink. It was perfect and Draco planned to remember it.  
  
  
Luna met them when they arrived with a tray of nettle tea and biscuits. She hugged them both and thanked them for luring sprites to the fields with their practices. She claimed the creatures were drawn to competitive energy and loves games and sport. Draco didn't know if any of it was true, but he smiled at her excitement.  
  
  
"You'll have to come visit again," she said. "I bought a new Muggle toy called a Fisbee."  
  
  
"Frisbee," Potter said.  
  
  
Luna smiled serenely. "Such a lovely name." She turned to Draco. "Promise you'll come play it with me?"  
  
  
Draco had yet to resist this odd witch who looked enough like him to be family and yet was nothing like him at all. "I promise."  
  
  
"Great! I'll see you both next week. Come by on Monday." She turned to walk back to her house without waiting for their consent.  
  
  
Potter was standing silently beside him with a bemused look.  
  
  
"She is one odd duck, isn't she?" Draco said.  
  
  
"That she is. And apparently our new Frisbee player." Potter chuckled and shook his head.  
  
  
"What is that, anyway?"  
  
  
Potter scrunched his face in thought. "It's kind of like a plate you throw and catch, but it's made of plastic."  
  
  
"That Muggle stuff that doesn't break?"  
  
  
Potter nodded with a wry smile. "Look at you and your Muggle vocabulary."  
  
  
Draco told him to fuck off, but he didn't mean it.  
  
  
A longing tugged at his heart as Potter bound their legs like usual and wrapped his arm around Draco's waist. Tomorrow would be the last time ever, and even that wouldn't be the same as their evening in Luna's overgrown field.  Draco wrapped his arm around Potter's shoulders, instead of resting it on top as he'd done before. They were pressed together from shoulder to ankle, and Draco soaked up Potter's scent and warmth.  
  
  
He would miss this.  
  
  
"Ready?" Potter's voice was slightly shaky, and Draco wondered if he were equally affected.  
  
  
"Yes."  
  
  
Their legs moved in tandem, propelling them forward faster than before. They were like one body moving together with the grace of a single mind. Unfortunately, Draco's natural grace in running had not improved completely over the past few weeks, and his outer foot stumbled. He tried to catch himself with his bound foot, but only succeeded in pulling Potter off balance. They staggered to the side, stumbling from the flat field into the small valley that ran along side it.  
  
  
They were falling.  
  
  
Draco felt the bounce of the grass that softened their landing and the twist of their bodies as they rolled down the hill in a tangle of limbs. When they finally stopped, Draco wasn't lying on grass. He felt a solid, chest moving up and down beneath him and hair tickling his face. He pushed up enough to meet Potter's eyes and was frozen by the intensity of his gaze.  
  
  
A hand behind his head pulled him down into a hard press of lips and then Potter's tongue was in his mouth, sliding against his tongue. Draco's hips pressed down in response and Potter groaned.  
  
  
A part of Draco's mind was screaming at him to acknowledge that he was  _kissing Harry Potter_ , but a larger part of him was worried that even thinking it would cause the illusion to shatter.  
  
  
Clearly he had hit his head in the fall, and he was going to damn well enjoy the wet dream before he woke in St. Mungo's to some wrinkly mediwizard named Bernard dressing him in an over-starched hospital gown.  
  
  
Pushing thoughts of hospitals from his mind, Draco focused on the way Potter's body writhed against his in time with their tongues.  Their hands grabbed and pulled at cloth and skin as they gasped into each other's mouths.  
  
  
The wind carried the smell of wild flowers, but Draco wanted to smell Potter's scent as he tasted him, so he pressed his face into Potter's neck and sucked on the skin there.  
  
  
Their rutting grew frenzied, and Draco bit at Potter's neck as he came in his pants. Potter gripped Draco's hips as he thrust up against him until he was groaning and trembling in the grass.  
  
  
Draco collapsed on top of him, closed his eyes, and waited for Bernard and the white hospital walls to greet him.  
  
  
He laid very still, feeling Potter's chest rise and fall beneath him and listening to their mingled panting.  As his heart rate and breathing slowed, he started to doubt he was dreaming.  His mind struggled with the unlikely fact that he had just pulled Harry Potter in reality.   
  
  
"That answers one question," Potter murmured, disrupting Draco's thoughts.  
  
  
"Oh?"  
  
  
"I'd wondered if the attraction was mutual."  
  
  
Draco chuckled against Potter's chest and felt it rumble in reply. "I suppose you wouldn't believe me if I denied it."  
  
  
Potter laughed fully. "Not even a little bit."  
  
  
Draco waited for the awkwardness to come, but instead there was just the slide of Potter's hand on his back and the rustling of the breeze that carried the smell of sweet flowers and grass to mix with the saltiness of theirs sweat. Well that just showed that they were adults now; they could admit a sexual attraction and satisfy a basic physical need without making it into something complex and emotionally messy.  
  
  
The light began to fade and the wind picked up. It grew quite cold, especially given the state of Draco's pants, and he finally sat up enough to pull out his wand and cast a Cleansing Charm on each of them.  
  
  
"Thanks," Potter murmured sounding rather drowsy. "That was getting cold."  
  
  
Draco smirked as he rolled off Potter, stood, and began smoothing his robes. "I think that has something to do with night falling."  
  
  
Potter propped himself up on his elbows. "So it is. Shall we head to the Leaky?"  
  
  
Draco's mind tried to process that he'd just snogged and frotted with Potter, and now Potter wanted to have dinner. Draco had planned to make a hasty exit so that he'd have time to pack his memories away before the race the next day.  He brushed some blades of grass off his clothing as he stalled for time.  
  
  
Potter rose, stepped forward, and kissed Draco on the mouth. It was tender and full of affection, and it made Draco doubt his belief that this was a simple one-off. Potter pulled away and a goofy grin broke across his face.  He ran his hand down Draco's cheek in a gentle stroke and then kissed the side of his mouth.  
  
  
"Leaky?" he asked again.  
  
  
"Mhmm," was all Draco managed as he tried to make sense of Potter's actions. He was almost acting as if they were a couple. A loud crack announced Potter's departure, but Draco stayed standing in the dark for long moments after.  
  
  
"There you are!" Potter called out as soon as Draco Apparated into Diagon Alley. He sounded relieved, and Draco wondered if Potter thought he'd been stood up.  
  
  
The thought of being able to stand up the most eligible bachelor in Britain gave Draco a rush of power he hadn't felt in years. He remembered the last time he'd had that feeling—fifth-year on the Inquisitorial Squad—and realised that his fifteen year old self would have made sure to break things off with Potter in the most humiliating and public way possible just to watch him suffer.  
  
  
Now, however, the thought made his stomach turn.  He didn't  _want_  to hurt Potter, even if he couldn't deny the thrill his new-found power gave him.  His mother had once said something about knowing which powers to use and which to hold, and he wished he'd paid more attention.  
  
  
Potter grabbed his hand and pulled him forward into the pub. He noticed the warmth of Potter's hand around his, but was distracted by the thought that Potter was not letting go. There were a several groups of witches and wizards filling most of the tables, and Potter led them through the middle of the room to their usual table in the corner.   And when did that happen that there was a table at the Leaky Draco thought of as  _theirs_?  
  
  
Draco was certain at least a couple sets of eyes fell on their joined hands as they moved through the pub. Potter was going to start rumours with his reckless actions, but Draco didn't protest. He should have thought about how the association would help his reputation, but instead his mind went to discouraging any others who might fancy a chance at Potter.  
  
  
When they sat at their table, Potter was still grinning like a fool, and Draco had to force his voice to stay casual in the light of such encouragement. "Does getting off always do this to you?"  
  
  
Potter shrugged as his smile turned shy, and he looked coyly down at the menu. "I guess I'm just happy you like me, too."  
  
  
Draco felt his eyes widen. Potter had admitted attraction, and the tender kisses and hand holding had hinted at more, but Draco was still shocked to hear Potter all but confess to liking him. Afraid of being wrong, Draco schooled his features and decided to see where things went.  
  
  
They continued as usual—eating, drinking, and discussing neutral topics—until they finished their first round of after dinner drinks.  
  
  
"I guess we should take it easy tonight," Potter said. "Big day tomorrow and all." He looked regretful until a little smirk pulled on the side of his mouth. "Unless you'd like to come home with me." His mouth was sly, but his eyes looked pleading.  
  
  
Draco considered the possibility of getting his hands on Potter's naked flesh and decided he rather liked the idea. He ignored the voice in his head that suggested he really wanted to know how Potter felt about him.  "I could be persuaded," he drawled. "But I may need one more drink."  
  
  
"Lush," Potter teased as he held up a hand to signal Abbott.  
  
  


  
* * *

  
  
Draco woke in Potter's soft white bed to memories of messy kisses and frantic hand jobs between sheets that still smelled of sex and sweat. Soft kisses pressed against his hair and Potter's earthy scent washed over him from behind. He couldn't resist pressing back into the solid heat, even if it was a bit like cuddling. Potter wouldn't mind.  
  
  
"Morning," Potter murmured. His hand ran down Draco's arm and around his waist, pulling their bodies together.  
  
  
"Morning," Draco whispered. "What time is it?" He would need time to go home and clean up before the fair. Their race wasn't until half two in the afternoon, but he should be seen partaking in Muggle culture and supporting the Ministry. Perhaps Potter could recommend a Muggle food that wouldn't offend his sensitive palate.  
  
  
Potter tightened his hold on Draco as he spoke. "I'm supposed to be there for the opening ceremony, but then I'm free until our race. Do you . . . want to join me?" Draco's sleep-soaked mind struggled to make sense of the implications of that. "I can show you around the Muggle games. I've only been to one fair, and I really just watched, but I've seen a few in films and the like."  
  
  
Draco briefly wondered if Potter would take him to one of those film things he'd read about. He'd never admit it, but he was desperately curious about them.  
  
  
Potter's arm around his waist loosened. "Are you just making me squirm? Because I can't imagine you're racking your brain for a gentle way to decline."  
  
  
Draco laughed. "You're right. I'd just tell you to fuck off."  
  
  
He felt Potter's own laughter against his back as the grip around his waist tightened gain.  
  
  
"That a yes, then?"  
  
  
"Maybe." Draco smiled to himself at getting to tease Potter, especially when he felt the warm huff against his neck.  
  
  
"How about if I make breakfast?"  
  
  
Draco turned to face Potter with a grin. "If you can manage a soft-boiled egg the way I like it, I'll give you an answer. Otherwise you'll just have to wait and see." It was a test—Draco could admit that to himself—to see if Potter would put the effort in.  
  
  
"You're going to a lot of work, aren't you?" Potter lips curved up on the side.  
  
  
Draco lifted his chin. "Yes."  
  
  
Potter shook his head but smiled. "I'm mad, aren't I?"  
  
  
"But I'm worth it."  
  
  
A hand ran along Draco's cheek and down his neck. Bright green eyes watched him carefully and Potter kissed him on the lips. "I think you are," he whispered.  
  
  
Rolling his eyes, Draco pushed Potter away but was secretly pleased. "Egg, Potter. And toast. Golden brown with real butter. Tea goes without saying. I suppose it's too much to hope you have something other than teabags."  
  
  
Potter got out of bed and stretched in full naked glory. "Breakfast tea from a bag or we can go out. But if I'm buying you breakfast I want a promise that you'll go to the fair with me." Potter turned to face him and his eyes held equal parts challenge and mirth.  
  
  
The look weakened Draco's legs.  
  
  
He slid from the bed and arched gracefully to flaunt his own lean muscles. "Fine. But I'm ordering a mimosa."  
  
  
Potter muttered something about high-maintenance before offering a shower. Draco accepted and it took them a good hour to make it out of Potter's flat.  
  
  
Only some of that time was spent with Potter convincing him to borrow some Muggle clothes for the day. Draco wouldn't admit it, but the jeans looked rather good on his long legs and firm arse.  
  
  
They ended up having a rushed breakfast at a café around the corner—with no mimosas but a decent cup of loose leaf Earl Grey—so they could make the opening ceremony on time. Draco wasn't sure when he'd been tricked into sitting through tedious speeches at Potter's side; perhaps Potter was more cunning than Draco had realised.  
  
  
Well good. Draco didn't suffer fools, no matter how fit or influential.  
  
  
When Shacklebolt and his minions had finished waxing poetic, Potter dragged Draco toward a cluster of tables and tents. They threw rings over bottles and small balls at jugs. They drank a sweet juice made of apple and elderflower that tasted like summer and nibbled on baked goods that were surprisingly good for having been made without magic.  
  
  
They even watched some ridiculous wizards in floral hats, bells, and ribbons prance around waving handkerchiefs and sticks. Potter assured him it was a real type of Muggle dancing but that laughing was perfectly acceptable.  
  
  
At one point they ran into Weasley and Granger, and Draco wondered if it was Granger's turn to Hex him for all past wrongs. Instead she just gave him a wry smile and said she'd heard they'd had a boy's night at the Leaky. From Weasley's snort of laughter, there could be no doubt she knew about the Stinging Hex.  
  
  
A few times Draco caught sight of Vane walking around with some other trainee Aurors. Whenever she saw him, she leered and made rude gestures, but thankfully she kept her distance.  
  
  
Draco had all but forgotten about the race until Potter said it was time for them to line up with the other contestants. Nervousness slowly crept up his spine and down to his fingertips. Scrutinising the field, he was comforted to see no sign of mud among the lush green grass. And if Granger were going to make a Mudblood joke at his expense, it didn't seem it would hold the bitter loathing he'd imagined weeks before.  
  
  
They were herded into a line with a dozen or so other pairs, and a small, portly witch tied each set of legs with bright yellow rope.  
  
  
Potter wrapped his arm around Draco's waist, just as he had done so many time in the past three weeks, but this time there was a tenderness and familiarity that made Draco's stomach clench. The race would be over in minutes, but the possessive hand on his hip assured him that Potter would at least bring him tea at work on Monday, if he didn't simply beg Draco to stay over on Sunday night.  
  
  
Realising that the most stubborn wizard of their time—because how else had he survive two separate Killing Curses if not by pure will?—had sunk his talon's into Draco's life should have been at least slightly unnerving. However, Draco thought he might enjoy some of Potter's stalking for once.  
  
  
Potter kissed him gently on the cheek before whispering in his ear. "Ready?"  
  
  
Draco didn't trust himself to speak as his nerves about racing mixed with his anticipation of where things with Potter might lead. He nodded instead, and wrapped his arm around Potter's shoulders.  
  
  
When the whistle sounded, they started with their joined leg.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
Draco had never been good at losing, but when he and Potter came in third out of ten pairs he found he didn't care. Maybe it was because they were still given a prize. Maybe it was because he was so grateful he hadn't fallen. Or maybe it was because Potter was still holding him when it was over, beaming at him before kissing his lips.  
  


The End

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